OOM: Preston's nightmare.
[Preston Dreams. His first night off the dose. Guest starring several milliways faces]
Preston finds himself standing at the end of a long road.
In the distance there is a city, a great gray city with long sloping walls and quiet fountains that don't run anymore.
He's running. Running toward the city becuase whatever he has to find is there and-
I once heard evil defined as a total lack of empathy. If you can't feel another person's pain...
There's a wrenching sound and Preston sees the people. The ones that were always there.
Thousands of them. Millions of them. The girl with the rotting face? She's there. The dead children, the dead soldiers. Not the fictional ones. The real ones. The ones from his world.
He finds himself stopping and-
Vivianna's there.
Vivianna and Partridge. His children stand there-Robbie and Lisa looking at him with their cold eyes and-
"No..."
A step back.
No. No..
Chanting. In his head.
"I'm listening to you."
"Men will look back on this and say...I gave birth to the 21st century."
Collective gray hands reaching out toward him...
"I don't need this."
"Die you bitch!"
"I'm jealous."
"Help me!"
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck you!"
"Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!"
A thousand angry voices, a thousand hurting voices cried out and the gray hands kept reaching for him.
"No!"
He tried to beat them back, but he was weaponless.
"Your leaders didn't solve a shit. They just dug a whole in the ground and buried their problems."
They were coming out of the ground!
There was an EC-10 piece. About people, dead people crawling out of the ground...
"Praying to God that it won't crawl out of the grave one day and bite their collective asses!"
He looks for a gun, a sword, something, anything. But there's blood on his hands in a sickly green hue and it's-
"John?"
"Vivianna?"
She's there. Dressed in flowing white with a bright amber gem around her neck.
"John."
And she's holding him, holding him tightly and close. Lips meet lips and Preston cries out.
So this is feeling.
This is touch and feeling. This is what it means to be human, to be alive-to be touched to be loved.
Like their first night.
Ambrosia was some chemist's cosmic joke. The feeling supressed was brought back on each liberian couple's wedding night. The ultimate upper. He'd never felt so alive-
"John?"
Fire. Burning.
She burned and gripped him tightly in her arms.
"I'd rather feel so it can drive me to do something!"
Dead hands, dead people, out of the ground, dead city.
"You're worried."
The fire! It burned him, blood boiling in his veins, skin peeling off layer upon layer until-
The fire disappeared in favor of a dark figure at the end of the road. It watched him cautiously for a moment before taking a few steps forward.
"No..." no. no-NO!
It was himself.
Dead. Sickly yellow gray-green blood on his hands.
It is father's law. Call it Faith Preston.
The doppleganger took a step toward him.
You have it I assume?
And another. Preston was frozen looking up into a sky where green katydids hopped from cloud to cloud.
"I hope you understand how wrong you are one day."
Black, black Eyes.
You cannot change who you are Preston. And inside you are mine.
Father's voice from his mouth, his putrid doctrines from his lips.
Did you think you were superior John Preston?
More steps.
Did you think you'd one? no my son. I have succeeded where other men have failed. I Have rebuilt mankind in my image. I am the end Preston. The end of humanity as a whole."
Preston faces his doppleganger down.
Vivianna's burning corpse is still standing behind him along with Partridge, wound through the throat.
A gun.
In his face.
Time to end, Preston.
--------------
Preston awoke with sweat beading from his brow, form chilled to the bone. The digital clock beside his bed read 11:21 and the numbers crawled across his field of vision. He raised a hand tentatively to his eyes only to find them wet with tears.
Always crying. Preston shook his head, "I've become a regular basket case haven't I?"
But sleep. sleep called and it prevailed. and in that sleep of death that all wander, what dreams may come and plague the men who dream them?
Preston hopes to never find out.
Preston finds himself standing at the end of a long road.
In the distance there is a city, a great gray city with long sloping walls and quiet fountains that don't run anymore.
He's running. Running toward the city becuase whatever he has to find is there and-
I once heard evil defined as a total lack of empathy. If you can't feel another person's pain...
There's a wrenching sound and Preston sees the people. The ones that were always there.
Thousands of them. Millions of them. The girl with the rotting face? She's there. The dead children, the dead soldiers. Not the fictional ones. The real ones. The ones from his world.
He finds himself stopping and-
Vivianna's there.
Vivianna and Partridge. His children stand there-Robbie and Lisa looking at him with their cold eyes and-
"No..."
A step back.
No. No..
Chanting. In his head.
"I'm listening to you."
"Men will look back on this and say...I gave birth to the 21st century."
Collective gray hands reaching out toward him...
"I don't need this."
"Die you bitch!"
"I'm jealous."
"Help me!"
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck you!"
"Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!"
A thousand angry voices, a thousand hurting voices cried out and the gray hands kept reaching for him.
"No!"
He tried to beat them back, but he was weaponless.
"Your leaders didn't solve a shit. They just dug a whole in the ground and buried their problems."
They were coming out of the ground!
There was an EC-10 piece. About people, dead people crawling out of the ground...
"Praying to God that it won't crawl out of the grave one day and bite their collective asses!"
He looks for a gun, a sword, something, anything. But there's blood on his hands in a sickly green hue and it's-
"John?"
"Vivianna?"
She's there. Dressed in flowing white with a bright amber gem around her neck.
"John."
And she's holding him, holding him tightly and close. Lips meet lips and Preston cries out.
So this is feeling.
This is touch and feeling. This is what it means to be human, to be alive-to be touched to be loved.
Like their first night.
Ambrosia was some chemist's cosmic joke. The feeling supressed was brought back on each liberian couple's wedding night. The ultimate upper. He'd never felt so alive-
"John?"
Fire. Burning.
She burned and gripped him tightly in her arms.
"I'd rather feel so it can drive me to do something!"
Dead hands, dead people, out of the ground, dead city.
"You're worried."
The fire! It burned him, blood boiling in his veins, skin peeling off layer upon layer until-
The fire disappeared in favor of a dark figure at the end of the road. It watched him cautiously for a moment before taking a few steps forward.
"No..." no. no-NO!
It was himself.
Dead. Sickly yellow gray-green blood on his hands.
It is father's law. Call it Faith Preston.
The doppleganger took a step toward him.
You have it I assume?
And another. Preston was frozen looking up into a sky where green katydids hopped from cloud to cloud.
"I hope you understand how wrong you are one day."
Black, black Eyes.
You cannot change who you are Preston. And inside you are mine.
Father's voice from his mouth, his putrid doctrines from his lips.
Did you think you were superior John Preston?
More steps.
Did you think you'd one? no my son. I have succeeded where other men have failed. I Have rebuilt mankind in my image. I am the end Preston. The end of humanity as a whole."
Preston faces his doppleganger down.
Vivianna's burning corpse is still standing behind him along with Partridge, wound through the throat.
A gun.
In his face.
Time to end, Preston.
--------------
Preston awoke with sweat beading from his brow, form chilled to the bone. The digital clock beside his bed read 11:21 and the numbers crawled across his field of vision. He raised a hand tentatively to his eyes only to find them wet with tears.
Always crying. Preston shook his head, "I've become a regular basket case haven't I?"
But sleep. sleep called and it prevailed. and in that sleep of death that all wander, what dreams may come and plague the men who dream them?
Preston hopes to never find out.